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The Ceremony of Twelve still haunted Jonas. The silence of the crowd, the uncertainty of twitching in his seat, thinking the Chief Elder had forgotten him, or worse, not given him an Assignment at all. Instead, he was to be the next Receiver, collecting memories and making decisions for the community.
Now, he realized that his actual fate was far worse. Until another would be cursed, he’d be forced to bear the memories, constantly taunting him. He could think, feel, love , but alone, that much was worthless.
With The Giver gone, Jonas was crowned the new Receiver, forever watching the community drone on in its relenting monotony. Or he would be if he hadn’t conspired with the man to release memories back into the community. No, The Giver had faded into the night, all alone, without a lick of supplies, while Jonas was left behind, crumbling under the weight of everything.
In The Giver’s absence, the community fell into chaos. With the memories running amok, there was little Jonas could do to advise them with the fragments in his possession. The Elders surrounded him like a mob of rabid dogs , relentlessly pouncing and demanding answers.
Truthfully, he had no idea how to proceed. Everything had seemed so simple before he decided to reverse the sameness. Now, his thoughts were swirling through a tornado of contradiction, and he was hopelessly trying to catch each one. They simply flew by too fast in a flurry of pure chaos, rendering them nothing more than mutilated syllables as they passed him each revolution.
Now, every day, he heard the rumbling stomachs of laborers. He sensed the unending boredom of Elevens in class. He watched Nines cry out when they fell off their bikes and scraped their knees. It was funny, in a morbid way, how the community screamed each time they saw the red liquid trickle out of a minor wound like they’d never seen blood before. Though in a way, Jonas knew they hadn’t.
The news of every accident and skirmish spread like wildfire through the community. Natasha and Fritz were fighting over a doll, Pierre was tripping and breaking an arm, and the stories kept piling up. Concerns, worries, slander, and letters constantly flooded his inbox, forming frantic paper skyscrapers in their wake. Recently, Jonas began simply to toss them upon arrival.
When it wasn’t pain that plagued them, it was regret. The image of his father sitting alone in the living room, still, facing the wall because it had been weeks since he’d dared to return to the Nurturing Center.
“And I… I just can’t believe I’d do that. I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want to feel,” he muttered. “Sometimes I try to convince myself it didn't happen, or I was forced to do it, but when I look at myself, their blood… it still clings to my hands.”
“I know,” Jonas whispered, head hung low, with teary eyes of solemn agreement.
He’d seen how the memories reduced the community to a bitter, hate-filled husk of what it was. Sometimes, he’d lie awake feeling emptier than ever, even during sameness, and wish there was some magical undo button he could press to suck up all the memories and revert everything back to grey.
Yet when he tried to recall any purpose or joy in life during sameness, he found nothing. At the very least, parents now embraced their children with a sparkle of warmth that wasn’t there before. Teens occasionally blushed as they passed each other on the street. Art hung off buildings and fences, depicting unrivaled beauty and emotion. It had to mean something.
So when the Elders called for a meeting the next morning, Jonas knew what must be done.
The entire community had gathered in front of the stage used for the ceremonies. Despite the absence of an apparent reason for a public meeting, the Elders went along with it. While they might have remained unbothered, the crowd was shaking like loose ornaments in the wind.
“Hello, everyone!” the Chief Elder exclaimed, though her muscles were knitted tight.“We have brought you all here today in support of the community returning to normal. Watch as our new Receiver announces the end of the memories’ rampage.”
Oh, so that was the reason. Of course, returning to sameness and ending the suffering was the logical solution, even though it couldn’t have felt more wrong to him. Reclaiming the memories meant sucking up all the remaining love and individuality; a betrayal of the highest order. Not just to the community, but to himself, and most crucially, The Giver.
Jonas walked into view, meeting the hundreds of eyes as they fell upon him. Even the stage he stood on was frozen in anticipation. Slowly, he wandered to the front and took the sparkling microphone in his hands.
“Memories are meant to be shared.”
A chain reaction of gasps riffled through the audience. Suddenly, the eyes once united in worry divided into factions of shock, rage, and curiosity.
“The youth are so entitled these days, always preaching their nonsense…” a man grumbled.
“How dare you! Don’t you know how much pain you’ve caused?” a woman screeched.
Still, in the onslaught of pushback, Jonas searched for the faces that held out in hope, and somehow, it made a small part of him believe it all had been worth it.
“Life should be made of individual decisions and emotion. Children deserve to grow up feeling they’re loved. They deserve to choose what they want to do with their lives, even if it means they fight and make mistakes. Sameness may have eliminated our pain, but it reduced our lives to monotonous grinds.”
A storm cloud of silence fell upon the crowd. Their faces were blank, staring back with contemplative focus. The question became when, not if, it would rain. Rather, would the precipitation bring resentment or revelation?
“Returning would be betraying ourselves and our humanity,” Jonas continued. “For that reason, the memories will never be recollected.”
These days, Jonas could rarely pass by large groups without feeling at least one glare burn through his skin, even though the hatemail had largely ceased. Still, he could never grow tired of the piercing sky blue that covered the heavens or the wet morning dew seeping into his shoes on the bright green glass. The small things, like the sun gleaming against his skin or the pitter patter of rain on his roof still brought a small spark of contempt even after months of exposure.
Through it all the accidents decreased as people learned to be more careful, even if you could still see the occasional kid wearing a bandaid. Every few weeks, you’d catch wind of someone switching jobs, not Assignments, or a new relationship through community gossip. Even though some houses rattled with the yells of fights, the community had adjusted to its new, moderately peaceful normal.
The front door creeped open as Jonas stepped inside. The house’s warmth enveloped him when he saw his family gathered together on the living room carpet.
“Careful, Gabriel,” Father smiled, monitoring the toddler wobble across the room.
While Gabriel could only babble in response, Jonas felt the tornado of his mind dissipate. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the decision was tragically simple. Even through the gale force winds and pounding hail, one message remained clear. Saving him was worth it. Love, joy, and freedom were always worth it.
Most of all, Jonas regretted nothing.